


a thousand things i've never done before

by amilynholdo



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/F, takes place after 3x06 and 3x07 and 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amilynholdo/pseuds/amilynholdo
Summary: a series of scenes tied to, respectively, 3x06, 3x07, and 3x08.the warmth after a dance, the pride after protest. then, a sunset in a kitchen.
Relationships: Marilla Cuthbert/Muriel Stacy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63





	a thousand things i've never done before

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this is from the song 'i could have danced' all night cause i originally started writing this after 3x06, and it was meant to be a similar concept as the scene the song appears on in the musical my fair lady. what's left of that is the first section of this, but then it took me too long to write it, and new episodes came out, and this morphed into something a bit different.
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading my Super Niche Fic.

Muriel is intensely aware of the air hitting her face as she rides her motorized bicycle home from the dance. It is crisp and placidly powerful, like air can only be on summer nights like this one. The sky is almost entirely clear and so, so full of stars. As Muriel gets off the bicycle and into her house, she directs one last glance upwards, and thinks she can see a shooting star making its way across the dark vastness.

She locks the door behind her, and collapses on her favourite armchair. Slowly, she finds the strength to lean down and untie her boots, to slide them off with her feet. She’s almost too tired even for that, but after so much dancing she simply needs to.

She expects to fall asleep quicker than she has in years, perhaps to not even make it to bed and sleep then and there, on the armchair, but she doesn’t. All the tiredness in her body cannot compete with the excitement she can still feel running through it. It might have been the sense of communal joy following the fair, or perhaps the music of a full band, but dancing tonight felt so much different than it did in her classroom with young Mr Lynde. Or maybe it was the hand holding hers with such grace, before Marilla stopped dancing.

Muriel wishes Marilla hadn’t stopped dancing.

Resigned not to sleep, she gets up and starts wandering the house, looking for something to do, anything to keep herself occupied. Eventually, she settles on baking. Muriel was never the best baker –her mind goes to puffs delicious enough to win county fair prizes– but she can put together a decent enough pie. And it’s better than roaming around like an overexcited soul haunting her own house. It’s good to have something to put all this energy into, and as she kneads the dough, she definitely isn’t thinking of the pair of blue eyes that followed her around the room as she danced with Matthew to spite Rachel.

Once the pie is assembled, she slides into the oven, and sits on the floor in front of it, exhausted. Soon enough, the warmth from the oven starts to feel a bit too much, like that of a body coming close to hers at the dance to whisper into her ear. She gets up, and starts cleaning the mess she’s made in her kitchen. By the time she has wiped all the flour off the table, she realises she has started humming Dashing White Sergeant.

When she’s done with the kitchen, she decides to move on to the rest of her house. One would think that during the summer holidays a schoolteacher’s house would become less cluttered, not more. Yet, with the newspaper to run, and finally starting to become more involved in community life, Muriel has to admit she might have let herself go a little bit. So, she starts picking up everything that’s out of order and putting it back into its rightful pace. Not only can’t she stop humming the music, but she finds that the tidying is so much more pleasant if done while twirling around and stepping to the rhythm.

After an hour, at precisely 3:27 in the morning according to Muriel’s pocket watch, she pops her pie out of the oven. A lovely fruity smell fills the house, and, finally ready for sleep, Muriel drags herself up to bed and immediately falls asleep, completely clothed, a smile on her face.

* * *

Marilla is used to being proud of Anne by now, but somehow the intensity of it shocks her every time. Yes, she may have acted rashly, but, as usual, Anne’s strength lies not in the situations she manages to put herself in, but in how she pulls herself out of them. And what a way of pulling herself out she has.

And perhaps, this time, Marilla is proud of herself as well. Or maybe it’s just the excitement from the day. But she can’t deny that having taken part in Anne’s action has given her a thrill of invincibility. Riding across town on the cart, waving her handkerchief around to the sound of all those young voices, and Miss Stacy’s bell ringing louder than it all from in front of them, well, that’s going to be a memory she'll treasure for a long time.

After it’s all done, the children follow Miss Stacy to her house. When Marilla knocks on the door to the cottage, Miss Stacy opens up looking happy, exhausted, perhaps even relieved not to have to spend an evening alone with overexcited adolescents, however smart or courageous.

‘Marilla! What a lovely surprise!’ the schoolteacher exclaims with a smile, ‘I thought you and Matthew were heading back to Green Gables…’

With that, she moves to the side of the door to allow Marilla in.

‘We were, but then we thought back to your invitation, and Matthew suggested at least one of us should join you,’ Marilla replies, as she steps into the house and removes her hat. ‘You know, in case you needed help with the youngsters.’

Muriel takes the hat and sets it next to her own on a hanger. When she turns to face Marilla, she has a look in her eyes that can only be described as… fond?

‘Thank you.’ She says.

And with that she’s off, making conversation with each of the young protestors and congratulating them. Marilla admires how she makes each of them feel special, how she adjusts her behaviour to precisely what each of them needs. A word here, a squeeze of an arm there, and for everyone a supportive smile. As for herself, Marilla makes herself busy with serving refreshments, so that Muriel can spend more time with her gaggle of revolutionaries. At first, it’s a bit awkward, this is not Marilla’s house, and she does not know where to put empty trays or where to refill jugs of drinks. But, soon enough, Muriel and her establish a sort of silent language made of nods and gestures exchanged from across the room, and they quickly find a human mechanism that keeps the celebrations going swimmingly.

Just like that, the rest of the evening flies by. Some of the children start heading home, walking in groups, or coaxed onto carts and carriages by parents displaying various degrees of concern. Anne walks in from outside, where she’s been talking to Gilbert Blythe. Marilla shares a knowing smile with Miss Stacy at the sight. Gilbert goes to get his cap and excuses himself. Anne takes a place on Miss Stacy’s small sofa, crammed between Priscilla Andrews, who seems very interested in a book she must have found on the teacher’s shelf, and Ruby Gillis, who is clearly struggling to keep her eyes open. Anne herself seems to join the Gillis girl in an exhausted half-slumber. The rest of Miss Stacy’s house is now empty.

Marilla feels a hand brush against her arm as Muriel squeezes past her into the kitchen. She follows her unthinkingly, simply falling into the same orbit they’ve been dancing around all night. The quiet is extraordinary, especially after the chatter that populated the house only an hour before. Muriel collapses on a chair and throws her head back with a huff of relief. She looks like something out of an ancient myth. Marilla stands close to the door, unsure what to do. As Miss Stacy goes back to sitting upright, she reaches to the other chair, and pushes it away from the table, gesturing for Marilla to sit.

‘Thank you for everything,’ the schoolteacher offers with a smile.

Marilla sits down, and fixes her gaze on the grain of the wooden table.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. I simply thought with a helping hand you might get to enjoy the evening too.’

Marilla can feel the woman’s gaze on her, so she tentatively looks up.

‘I did,’ confirms Miss Stacy, a grateful look on her face, ‘but I mostly meant today. I can’t tell you how much it meant to the kids that I wasn’t the only adult there with them. Not many parents would have done what you and Matthew have done for Anne today.’

Marilla isn’t sure how to respond to that. Her mind simply cannot fathom the thought that this woman, who supported Anne and the others with her unrelentless presence, is thanking her for simply tagging along. This woman, who rang a school bell into town with so much pride, arranged for a photograph to be taken at precisely the right time, spoke with such clarity about her students’ cause. And did so in perfect awareness of how this might affect her already precarious position in the community. This woman, praising Marilla for merely being present.

Marilla deflects.

‘It’s not as much as you do for them every day. As you did for them today.’ As she says this, Marilla attempts a smile. ‘I’m sure your words had great impact.’

Muriel’s hand, resting on the table, extends ever so slightly in Marilla’s direction, a silent reaching out. The gesture strikes Marilla as fascinatingly subtle, from this bold soul.

‘You spoke too. Anne’s face when you did was one I’ll remember for a long time. You and Matthew are doing a marvellous job with her, she’s truly a good kid.’

‘Oh, I can assure you Anne’s goodness is all hers. If anything, it’s Anne that’s done a marvellous job on us.’

Marilla says this with a chuckle, but the truth of it hits deeper than expected. All those years before Anne arrived to Green Gables seem almost untrue now, like a story told by a very different version of herself. But that version had been her for so, so long.

Muriel raises one perfect eyebrow, but the sweetness in her eyes doesn’t leave. Marilla thinks how fortunate she is to call this woman her friend.

‘Of course her good nature is hers. But you must know how much your presence is impacting her.’

Muriel always speaks with such conviction, like she would never utter a word she didn’t believe it. She is doing it now. It almost tempts Marilla into believing all the wonderful things she’s saying.

She nods silently, unable to come up with a response that won’t feel like she’s cheapening Muriel’s precious words.

Thankfully, that’s when they hear a knock on the door. It’s Matthew, come back with the cart. He figured Anne would be too tired to walk home, he says. And they find he’s right. Anne’s asleep on the sofa, Ruby Gillis’ head on her shoulder, a perfect image of girlhood. Matthew tries to lead her to the cart with only minimal disruption to her slumber. With a nod from her brother, Marilla knows they’ll be taking the long way to Green Gables, passing through town to accompany Ruby to her house.

As for Miss Andrews, Muriel offers to walk them home.

‘A nice walk in the night air never hurt anyone,’ she proclaims. Marilla can’t imagine that must be ideal after the day they’ve had, but Muriel insists.

So, they part ways, and as her brother rides the cart home, two worn out teenagers asleep on the back on a quilted blanket their teacher gave them, Marilla can still hear a sweet, brave voice wishing her goodnight. She can’t stop her lips from curving upwards into a smile.

* * *

Muriel is still reeling from the discovery they made the morning after their protest. She has had to put on a comforting face for her students, and of course she was happy to know that their minds were still set on their exams, but no amount of lemonade can hide the fact that they had to study at their teacher’s house. That their school has been burned down.

She’s tried distracting herself while her students were sitting their exams by going fishing, something she hasn’t done since her childhood. She thought that maybe going back to an activity she associates with memories of her father, the calmest person she’s ever known, might help her calm down. And it has, a bit, but she suspects it’s been the illuminating talk with Bash, more than the fishing itself. She’s always been the type of person whose mood can be turned entirely by a friendly face.

Yet, a week after the fact, she still can’t make sense of it. In rational terms, of course, it’s all too clear. She knows exactly who’s behind the burning of the school and the disappearance of their printing press, and she knows why they did it. That’s not hard to deduce. On an emotional level, though, it’s another story entirely. She just cannot wrap her head around such a blatantly hateful gesture. She’s used to opposition in this town, of course, from the moment she stepped foot in it. But until now those who opposed her ways have come at her in more straightforward manner. No need to hide your faces when the ways you’re fighting are all perfectly legal. But this? Pure, destructive spite? How can Muriel face the reality of it and not feel entirely unwelcome?

The worst of it is how much time she has on her hands, now that the kids are done with their exams and the newspaper is no more. She tries going fishing again, but it’s not as soothing without someone to talk to. She tries going on walks, or riding her bicycle. It all does very little to distract her, and it runs the risk of associating her favourite activities with horrible feelings of red-eyed anger. Eventually, she gives up trying for distraction. That just leaves her free to ruminate on her feelings, though, and, soon, it becomes all she can think about.

Muriel doesn’t like being this kind of person, driven by resentment in a way she never has been before. She starts despising herself for it. So, exactly a week after the accident, she decides it’s time for her to move on from Avonlea.

On the day of the next town council meeting, Muriel marches in with a letter of resignation in hand.

What she finds upon her entrance, though, stops her on her tracks. Next to the Minister, the usual gentlemen (Muriel mentally scoffs at the term), is Rachel Lynde, in her usual seat, but sitting next to her are Marilla Cuthbert, to her right, and a woman Muriel doesn’t recognise to her left.

‘Miss Stacy, what a pleasant surprise,’ greets her one of the men in their usual condescending tone.

‘I-I have come to hand in my resignation.’ Muriel’s tone is less steady than she’d like, still shaken by her surprise in finding three ladies sitting at the table. Still, the message gets across.

The reactions are predictable: the ladies are looking shocked and upset, the men quite smug.

‘Well, what can I say? That is very disappointing to hear, but we will have to respect your will,’ replies the Minister, sounding like he means none of his supposed disappointment.

‘Nonsense!’ Rachel’s voice comes from the further side of the table. ‘Miss Stacy, what’s the reason for such a sudden decision?’

‘It’s all in my letter.’ Muriel replies. She doesn’t move her gaze from the Minister. She tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him to think he’s successfully intimidated her, but she knows it’s because she can’t face Rachel. As long as Marilla doesn’t join her friend, Muriel thinks she can get out of this unscathed.

So, of course, Marilla speaks next.

‘There must be a misunderstanding,’ She sounds genuinely confused. ‘Miss Stacy, how about you take a few more days to ponder on this.’

‘Councilwoman,’ interjects one of the men. He says the title like something one says to a child to humour them. ‘I’m sure Miss Stacy has had more than enough time to _ponder_ things. We have no choice but respect her choice.’

Rachel’s face is entirely red at this point, and Marilla looks at Muriel with a disappointment that she cannot bear for much longer.

‘Thank you,’ Muriel speaks to the councilman, ‘Now, I’ll leave you all to your meeting. I apologise for the disruption.’

Muriel turns on her heels, and rushes out into the street before any of the women can object. She wishes she had had the foresight to ride her bicycle here. Instead, she has to bear the shame of each of her steps away from the town hall.

She means to head for home, but her feet decide otherwise. She finds herself where her school used to be, for the first time since she first found out it had burned down. The sight of the burnt wood should upset her further, but she doubts that to be possible. Instead, it only makes her surer of her decision. And if her heart breaks at the thought of when she will have to go home and start packing, well, she chooses to ignore that.

She carefully steps into the rubble, and goes to find her bell. She picks up the very edge of her skirt, and uses to clear most of the soot off the metal. The bright summer sun reflects on the bell and into her eyes. That must be why she feels tears forming. She lets her eyelids slide shut and a tear rolls onto her face. She runs a hand on her cheek to dry it. As soon as she does, she knows she has left a patina of soot all over her cheek. She’ll wash it off later, when she gets home. She’ll take a clean towel, the softest she has, she will dampen it in fresh water, and then she’ll wipe her face with it, she will cover it in soot, to be left behind in her empty house.

She picks up the bell, and leaves what’s left of the school behind her. She takes the long way home. She doesn’t know how much time she has before she will have to vacate the teacher’s cottage, so she savours what might be her last chance to imprint Avonlea onto her memory.

She walks along the fields, the ones that used to all look the same to her. Now she knows precisely which family each piece of land belongs to. She steers away from Green Gables. She doesn’t know if she’d be able to bear the sight of the white farm in the distance. Or worse, cross paths with any of its inhabitants. She must have been wandering for hours, judging from the sun. She takes out her pocket watch. Almost 7pm.

Reluctantly, she heads home. When she arrives, she finds a figure waiting on her doorstep. Considering the scarce evening light, it should take Muriel longer to figure out who it is. She knows straight away.

‘Marilla.’

‘Well, it took you long enough.’

That’s all the woman says as she stands up.

‘Please, come in,’ offers Muriel, as she opens the door, avoiding Marilla’s gaze.

Muriel heads to the kitchen, and sets the school bell down on the table.

‘Can I offer you anything?’

‘No, thank you,’ answer Marilla, voice sharp and dry. As she does, she produces an envelope, and lays on the table in an uncharacteristically brusque gesture. ‘I have been able to convince the council to leave the letter in my custody for seven days. When the week is up, you will be asked whether you want us to open it and finalise your resignation.’ The look in her eyes is downright ferocious. ‘Now, care to explain yourself?’

Muriel leans on her stove, and takes a breath.

‘They burnt down my school’ is all the explanation she can muster.

Marilla doesn’t relent. ‘I am perfectly aware of the fact. I’ll have you know Rachel and I have been able to leverage it to get the council to admit three more members, all female. Even numbers. Which is why I was lucky enough to witness your stunt today.’

Three more members. Not counting Rachel, Muriel only remembers seeing two women at the table. She wants to ask who the third member is, but figures it would only make further Marilla’s anger. Instead, she offers her congratulations.

The other woman, though, seems to be able to read her mind.

‘We were meaning to offer you the third seat.’ The bitterness in Marilla’s voice is clear.

Muriel can’t let herself imagine the possibility. Not only staying in town, but taking a leading role in the community, making her voice heard. It’s too good to be true.

‘It would never have worked. You didn’t see their smug smiles when I announced I’m leaving. I doubt they would want me in their council.’

Marilla won’t release Muriel from her stare.

‘Fiddlesticks! You think the way to wipe those smiles off their faces is giving them what they want? It’s not _their_ council anymore.’

Muriel can feel the very tip of her left hand start trembling, and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

‘I’m sure you and Rachel will do a wonderful job. I really am proud of you for getting on the council.’

Marilla’s eyes are so wide, her ears so red. Muriel is aware that she could stop this at any moment by just agreeing to stay, but the decision has been made now.

‘So you’re not taking the seat on the council. Understandable. Now, will you give me a reason why you’re abandoning your position and leaving all of your students?’

Muriel is overcome by the weight the mention of her students carries.

‘Please.’ Muriel can feel her breath becoming heavier, and tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. ‘Please don’t make this harder than it already is. My students will be alright. Anne’s year is off to college anyways, and there will be a new teacher for the others, who I’m sure will do a great jo-’ 

Muriel’s words stop coming out of her mouth, because all of a sudden Marilla Cuthbert is coming toward her, and putting a hand on her cheek, wiping a stray tear.

‘You have…’

‘…Soot on my cheek, I know.’ Muriel finishes her sentence with a nervous chuckle. Suddenly, she becomes aware of how much of a mess she must look. Soot on her face, and all along the hem of her skirt, where she used it to wipe the bell. She can feel her hairdo coming apart, and can already see tendrils of hair in front of her eyes. She knows it shouldn’t matter, given the situation, but all of a sudden it does. She tries at least to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, and she looks down.

Marilla is still standing close to her, but is now holding both arms close to her torso. Muriel doesn’t know how to break the silence. Everything she’s said until now feels like the absurd ramblings of a coward. She raises her gaze and speaks something she hopes resembles the truth.

‘I feel so foolish for feeling like I’d finally found my place in this town. Like my presence was actually wanted here, after everything we’ve been through as a community. The fire has made it clear to me that it never was.’

There is a moment of silence, where they both let Muriel’s words hang in the air. The last of the day’s light enters Muriel’s kitchen from the window, and hits the side of their faces, making Marilla’s skin appear resplendent.

‘You _are_ wanted. You are so, so wanted.’

Muriel hears Marilla’s words like they’re coming to her form a dream, like she’s not the one hearing them. She turns them over in her mind for a moment, trying to make them sound real.

Then, in a flash of clarity, she knows what to do. She steps forward and kisses the woman standing in front of her in her kitchen under the rays of a late summer sunset.

It lasts for a moment, and then she comes to her sense, and steps away. She curses herself for ruining everything, even more than it already was ruined. Whatever chance there was of her staying is over now.

‘I- I’m sorry.’

She turns around, carefully avoiding looking at Marilla, and tries to leave the room.

Except, when she gets to the door, there are five fingers around her wrist. Then, two arms around her. A shoulder to rest her head on. And Muriel does. She lets herself be still for a moment, and inhales the faint floral scent coming from Marilla’s blouse.

She knows she’s probably lost her mind once and for all. She’s probably imagining all of this. But it is all so wonderful, and Muriel doesn’t see the harm in believing it for a few moments more.

Then, Muriel feels the other woman’s hand move to the nape of her neck.

‘Please, don’t leave.’

Marilla’s voice sounds smaller that Muriel’s ever heard it, and Muriel can’t resist the urge to look her in the face. To check she hasn’t hurt her. She steps away from the other woman to be able to see her, and she instantly misses the warmth on her cheek. She remembers the night of the dance, and how she felt like she shouldn’t enjoy her face having to move close to Marilla’s in order to hear her whispers in the chaos.

What Muriel finds when she gazes into Marilla’s eyes is an incredibly vulnerable look, of a kind she’s never seen from this woman and her formidable soul.

‘May I…?’ The words fizzle away in Muriel’s throat and she finds herself unable to complete her question.

Once again, Marilla knows what she means.

‘…kiss me?’

Muriel gives a tentative nod.

As soon as she does, a pair of soft lips comes to rest on hers. Muriel’s legs feel like they are about to give in, her body unaccustomed to holding this much joy.

The instant she feels Marilla Cuthbert’s smile against her own, Muriel knows that no one will ever have to read her resignation letter.


End file.
